


Show Me Where Your Loyalties Lie

by Vythian



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, Multichapter, Pirate AU, because y'know........pirates, warning: era-specific violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-06-28 21:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15715800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vythian/pseuds/Vythian
Summary: Waverly Earp has given up everything to keep her family’s legacy safe. Now, those who wish to exploit it have taken her sister. And Waverly wants her back.What follows is a tale of love, treasure, and revenge on the high seas.ORThe wayhaught pirate AU that nobody asked for.





	1. July 28, 1679

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Newt, both for being an incredible beta and friend, and for putting up with all my writing freak outs.

_She’s seen this house before. Walked the path a million times. She knows that it’s home._

_But it doesn’t feel like home today._

_She pauses just before the steps to the front door. The way the stone has worn down over the years, from harsh angles to smooth, rounded softness, used to bring her comfort._

_But not today._

_Because today the sturdy oak door is hanging awkwardly in the doorway, swinging in the breeze and struggling to remain attached when half its hinges have been ripped from the wall._

_Today the rounded stone steps are slippery, coated in bloody footprints that track down the path._

_She steels herself, gathering her skirts around her and forcing herself to enter._

_And then she screams. She screams and screams and screams as she sees Wynonna’s body, broken and bloody, on the floor._

Waverly Earp woke with a gasp. One hand flew to her face as she pushed herself into a sitting position, struggling hard to catch her breath and keep the tears at bay. She tried to wipe the image from her mind, chanting over and over again that Wynonna was alive. Still alive.

It had been 47 days and the nightmares were only getting worse. Waverly tried to remember the details of what really happened, hoping that reality might chase the image from her mind. Their home had been broken into and ransacked. Drawers ripped open, cabinets emptied, furniture turned over and sliced open. Even their bedroom and personal items had been torn through. But there was no blood on the steps. No broken body in the main room. Just a splash of blood on the washbasin.

She spent hours looking for Wynonna that day, hoping that her sister had simply gone out for a drink or to check the distillery while Waverly was at the market. But Waverly knew, even before her search was complete, that they had taken her.

As the dim light of dawn filtered in through shuttered windows, Waverly recited the facts. Over and over again until her heart rate began to slow and she could finally catch her breath.

She reached behind her, feeling the space beneath her pillow for the paper she had placed there. That stupid scrap of paper that Wynonna had made her promise to keep with her. The one that got her father and oldest sister dragged away. The one that got her home destroyed. She felt the tattered corner of the folded scrap, fingers brushing past the carved, wooden handle of the dagger she kept under her pillow as well — just in case. Assured that both the scrap and the dagger were still where she had left them, Waverly sighed and headed for the washbasin in the corner of the room.

She splashed the lukewarm water on her face, glad for what little relief it provided in the already oppressive summer heat. Leaning hard, Waverly rested her forehead on the wall as she gripped the basin hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“Today.” She breathed out slowly, eyes closed. “Today is the day.”

 _It has to be_.

The words hung in the air like a shadow that Waverly couldn’t seem to get rid of. But today would be the day. The day she was going to find a ship in this godforsaken town to take her north. To where she knew the bastards who took Wynonna were headed. Waverly thought of the last 47 days and wondered how things fell apart so quickly.

It had taken less than two days for the rest of Port Royal to return to business as usual. Most of Waverly’s friends and employees begged her to hold a funeral and simply move on. To take over Earp Distillery, settle down, marry a nice sailor boy and start a new family…

But Waverly couldn’t. She knew that Wynonna was still alive. She knew that whoever attempted to find that scrap of paper took Wynonna in hopes that she would have the information they needed. And knowing Wynonna, Waverly was sure that her sister would lead them in circles for weeks.  

But weeks had passed and Waverly neared the end of her rope. Her funds ran low. She had no home, no business, and no family to return to. She had tried to think of the captains and companies whom she had not yet contacted, wracking her brain for potential new arrivals. Most had turned her away, formally telling her that she could not afford their prices while subtly implying that there may be… _other_ ways of paying her debt. The more subtle captains had received a polite nod of thanks followed by Waverly’s quick exit. The not-so-subtle captains received broken noses.

Waverly took a few more deep breaths, trying to calm her thoughts and the tremors in her arms caused by lack of sleep. She needed to form a plan for the day.

“Okay,” she murmured to herself in the dim morning light. “Simone Trading Company, Magnus Holdings… and Gardner Shipping.”

She tried to avoid Gardner Shipping at all costs, but her options were dwindling quickly, and she would rather go to the Gardners than stoop to _pirates_.

Waverly stood upright, splashing more water on her face and the back of her neck. It wasn’t a proper bath but it would have to do. Her plan formed, she strode over to the small trunk at the foot of the bed. It was the only thing she had brought with her from the homestead. She knelt to the floor and lifted a small key from the chain around her neck, clicking open the lock and wrenching the fitted lid open.

She surveyed the two pistols, ammunition pouches, and cleaning kits, making sure that none had slipped loose from the straps holding them tight to the lid of the trunk. One, a plain but effective pistol, had been a gift from one of their clients, the owner of a tavern called Shorty’s on the east side of the city, on her 16th birthday. The other, an ornate pistol with the Earp family crest emblazoned on a silver inlay on the handle, had been Wynonna’s. Waverly ran her fingers over it gently and smiled, remembering how Wynonna had referred to it as their peacemaker.

Assured that nothing was out of place, she rifled through the neat stacks of clothing, tossing a white cotton shift and a dark, blue-grey linen dress with deep forest green embroidery onto the bed.

Waverly removed her sweat-soaked night dress and pulled the cotton shift over her head, sighing as the clean, dry cloth settled over her shoulders. She felt cleaner and more determined already. Dressing quickly and quietly, she tightened the strings of her corset and retrieved the scrap of paper from under her pillow. She tucked the scrap into the small pocket she had sewn between two of the wooden corset ribs and, checking that it was secured in place, slipped on her dress.

She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it to one side in a loose braid and checking her reflection a small mirror from her trunk. Satisfied that she appeared presentable and trying hard to ignore the dark circles under her eyes, Waverly reached for the dagger still under her pillow.

Light glinted off the steel blade as she held it gingerly in her hands, admiring the complicated engravings on the polished walnut handle. It was one of her mother’s few surviving possessions, and the only thing she left to Waverly.

_Remember, baby girl, always be armed but never let them know._

She checked the sharpness of the blade and tucked it into a pocket-sheath hidden in the folds of her dress.

With one last look around the room and a silent prayer that she would not be back that night, Waverly Earp stepped out onto the bustling streets of Port Royal.

* * *

 “Well _fine_!” Waverly shouted as a very large man with arms bigger than her head forcibly pushed her out onto the street. “I’ll just take my business elsewhere!”

She stood as tall as she possibly could and glared at the man’s retreating form, refusing to flinch when the door to Magnus Holdings slammed shut.

“Sixty gold pieces is practically robbery anyway!” she grumbled to herself.

It had not been an easy morning. Mr. Simone, an older gentleman who had been established in Port Royal since before the British occupation, had outright refused to see her. Too much of a liability, his manservant had said, not worth the trouble. Apparently those broken noses had not stayed as quiet as she had hoped.

At least Lord Magnus’ shipping captain had allowed her in the building. Though he, too, had heard the rumors quickly spreading about her and demanded that Waverly pay triple the price for safe passage to the colonies.

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Waverly tried not to notice how quiet the normally busy street had become. She tried to ignore the people who stared after her, whispering and pointing, as she started up the road to the markets. She told herself that it didn’t matter, _they_ didn’t matter.

Stomach grumbling angrily, Waverly stopped at a small cart, one of many in the sprawling markets that served everything from hardtack and cheese to a full, spit-roasted pig. After exchanging a few pleasantries with the saleswoman, Waverly continued on her way, pulling a golden pastry stuffed with meat and spices from her bag of four.

The cobblestone streets of Port Royal were bustling with life despite the mid-afternoon heat. Waverly walked quickly, avoiding the merchants’ carts trundling past and dodging her way through the crowds of people with the practiced step someone who had roamed these streets all her life. She ducked into a shaded alley, smiling kindly at a young boy poking his head out from under a pile of rags. She tossed him two of her pastries and continued on, following the alley until it opened onto her favorite tree-lined courtyard. An empty, shaded bench on the other side of the courtyard provided an exceptional and necessary respite from the day’s heat.

Waverly sat gingerly, finishing her last pastry and watching the crowds rush by. Sailors idled about, spirits brightened by copious amounts of liquor; children dashed through the streets, leather ball bouncing between them; women ran errands and sold goods. Waverly observed them all, feeling at peace in the chaos for the first time in nearly two months.  

As the afternoon sun began to sink lower in the sky, she steeled herself and approached Gardner Shipping. It was an imposing building, with three stories of brick and ornate masonry, beautiful even as it began to sink into disrepair.

Waverly took a deep breath to steady herself and knocked hard on the mahogany doors.

A moment later a burly man in a tattered overcoat a half-size too small appeared in the doorway. He looked Waverly over, disdain clear in his eyes.

“How may I help you, Miss...”

Waverly tried not to shudder under his gaze. Everything about this man, from his greasy unwashed hair and obviously stolen coat to the pistol tucked into his belt, screamed at Waverly to turn away and never come back.

“Earp,” Waverly said with all the courage she could muster. “Waverly Earp. I am here to speak with Mr. Gardner about a business opportunity.” She had learned long ago that the only way to hold a Gardner’s ear was with the prospect of money.

The man paused, seeming to consider the offer. Waverly drew herself up to her full height and stared back at him.

“This is a time-sensitive matter and I do not have all day.”

He sighed exasperatedly but stepped aside and motioned her forward.

“Mr. Gardner is a very busy man, so be sure to keep your _proposition_ concise.” He sneered as he led her further into Gardner Shipping.

The hall was long and dim, the dark wood paneling doing nothing to reflect the light from what few candles hung along the walls. Waverly supposed that it had, much like the building’s exterior, once been quite beautiful. Touches of the company’s former wealth dotted the tables and rooms, gilded portraits hung between the candle holders, crystal glasses sat on on silver trays in a gallery to her left while expensive carpets softened her steps. But many of the candle holders were empty, and everything from ceiling to floor was covered in a thin layer of dust.

They arrived at a set of gilded double doors at the end of the hall. The man opened one of the doors and stuck his head in, whispering harshly.

He stepped backwards, removing his head from the gap, and pushed the door open, stepping inside just before announcing Waverly’s presence.

“Mr. Gardner, a Waverly Earp is here to speak with you.”

Waverly glared furtively at him as she passed; she didn’t trust the burly man. Marching into the office, back straight and head held high, Waverly hoped she appeared more confident than she felt.

“Waverly!” Tucker Gardner stood hurriedly and scurried out from behind the desk. “It is so good to see you.” He grasped her hand in both of his and Waverly fought the urge to slap him.

“Hello, Tucker,” she said stoically. Something about Tucker had always struck her as wrong. It was the reason that she had never ventured to the Gardner Estate with Wynonna when she would visit Tucker’s eldest sister, Mercedes.

Tucker finally released her hand and leaned back against the desk, motioning carelessly to the man behind them. He left quickly and returned holding a tray with two steaming cups and a saucer of tiny molded sugar cubes.

“Coffee?” He gestured to the tray as the man set it down on a side table and backed out of the room, closing the door with a thud as he left. “I had it imported by a friend at the Levant Company.”

Waverly nodded, annoyed by Tucker’s lavish display of wealth. Still, she was eager to try the beverage she had heard so much about, and such highly refined sugar was a luxury she did not often enjoy.

The coffee smelled bitter and strong. She added a tiny square of sugar and stirred the cup’s contents gently.

It was complex and wonderful. Waverly felt like her very bones were more alert. She finished the cup quickly and turned back to Tucker, who was watching her intently, his cup untouched.

“Er, thank you for the coffee, Tucker. It was lovely,” she said awkwardly, still tasting the bitter sweetness on the back of her tongue.

“You are very welcome, Waverly. To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

Even his voice seemed oily. Waverly fought the urge to run and dropped her right hand to her side, feeling for the outline of the dagger in her skirt.

“I need safe passage to the colonies. I know your ships sail north, and I am more than happy to compensate you for your troubles.”

Tucker stared hard at her for several minutes and Waverly began to worry. He still had not touched his coffee.

After what felt like an eternity, he dropped his gaze and moved closer.

“You’re a good person, Waverly Earp, and I think I can help you,” he said sincerely.

Waverly felt hope bubble up within her and wondered if, for the first time in a month, things might just be going her way. “Really?”

“Of course,” Tucker said seriously. “I know exactly what you need, Waverly.”

He took a step closer and leaned in. When had he gotten so close? Waverly gripped one arm with the other and grabbed hold of the dagger in its hidden sheath, gripping it tightly and praying she wouldn’t need it.

“You’re a good person, Waverly. And you deserve a good husband. Someone who will elevate you. Save you from that vile, rum-selling distillery scum legacy.” Tucker was inches from her face now, eyes earnest and determined.

“I can be that person for you, Waverly.”

A chill like ice ran down her spine as she stepped out of Tucker’s reach.

“Thank you for the offer, Tucker, but I’m not looking for a husband. I need to get to the colonies and find my sister.” Waverly hoped that the tremor of fear she felt had not shown in her speech.

“Forget about her!” Tucker shouted furiously as he towered over her, wild rage on his face. “She’s probably dead already and you’ll be next if you don’t leave it alone—”

There was a flurry of movement and Tucker stopped abruptly, surprised by the dagger pointed at his throat.

“Not _one_ step closer.” Waverly pushed the dagger’s point into his skin for emphasis. “I’m leaving now, Tucker. You would do well not to follow me.”

She backed up slowly, eyes never leaving Tucker’s face as she felt for the door handle behind her. Her shaking hand gripped it tightly as she wrenched the door open and hurried through it, only turning her back to Tucker once the closed door lay between them.

Waverly jammed the dagger back into its sheath and sprinted down the hall, bursting through the doors and into the late afternoon sun.

The tension of the moment eased from her muscles and she laughed in relief, not caring one bit if people stared.

She made her way back toward the tree-lined courtyard and smiled at the sight of her empty bench. Flopping down onto it, she reveled in the feeling of the soft, tree-filtered sunlight on her face. She sat there, breathing in the organized chaos of the city and feeling the last of her fear ebb away.

 _Now_ , Waverly thought to herself, _I just need to…_

Dread rose sourly in her chest as she realized that she was out of options. Gardner Shipping had been her last hope, and it had failed spectacularly. Resting her head in her hands, Waverly tried not to cry.

A rowdy group of sailors startled her from her thoughts as they staggered by, headed for the east side of town. Towards the bars and taverns and brothels where liquor flowed more freely than anywhere else in the colonies. The east end of Port Royal had long ago been claimed by Britain’s army of so-called privateers. But fancy titles and letters of mark didn’t fool Waverly; they were little more than thieving _pirates_.

The few times Waverly had ventured into East Port Royal, it had been to accompany a delivery to Shorty’s Tavern. Waverly had always liked Shorty. He was a good man in a bad part of town, and from their first meeting, he had treated her with a kindness that she rarely received from her own father.

“Of course!” Waverly smacked her forehead in annoyance and looked toward the eastern docks. Shorty could help her! If she had to turn to pirates, he would know which ones she could trust.

With the daylight quickly fading away, Waverly hurried toward the entrance to the eastern port.

Determination quickening her steps, she had not noticed the burly gentlemen at the fruit stand behind her bench, in tattered overcoats a half size too small, staring at the same plantain for the last half hour.

* * *

Waverly made her way gingerly through the streets of East Port Royal. This part of the city was famed for its debauchery, and she could vividly remember her father ranting about how the pirate scourge was ruining their city. She had questioned him, once, about why they sold rum to the pirates if they were such evil creatures.

She still bore the scars from that day.

Picking her way toward Shorty’s Tavern, Waverly stepped around sailors passed out in the gutters and dodged drunken couples, most of them together for just one night. Shorty’s was right in the middle of East Port Royal, close to both the docks and the slums, which made it an ideal place for all. Shorty never turned anyone away, too eager to accept the pirates’ loot. He had told her once that pirates just in from a raid could spend a thousand gold pieces in a single night.

A boy no older than 15 stumbled out of a tavern nearby, dressed in expensive velvet and clearly drunk. As he stumbled past, Waverly began to think Shorty had told her the truth.

She turned right at one of the main courtyards and looped back up another street. There were a few alleys connecting the two, but Waverly did not dare venture down them in the dark.

Up ahead, Shorty’s Tavern shone bright at the end of the road, a beacon for all who came to drink and gamble the night away. It was a steady establishment, with two stories of plaster and brick, and a balcony overlooking the the entrance. The shutters had all been thrown open to combat the heavy summer heat and the doorways hung empty and open, their doors long since destroyed. Shorty had always said there was no need for doors in East Port Royal, they simply provided another barrier between the pirates and their alcohol.

As she drew closer, Waverly ducked into a side alley and took a few deep breaths. She could do this. All she had to do was walk into a tavern full of drunk, rowdy pirates and find Shorty. Piece of cake. She peeked around the corner of the building. A ship must have docked today because Shorty’s was busier than Waverly had ever seen it. Men and women were everywhere, hanging out of the windows, crowding onto the balcony, and oddly enough, one enterprising gentleman was doing a jig on the roof, his half empty bottle of rum glinting in the moonlight.

There was one table that she could see through the first floor doorway; it was, surprisingly, nearly empty. Only a lone sailor, young and dressed in fitted breeches and a colorful vest, sat at the table. He played idly with his mug of ale while he waited for whoever was important enough to warrant an entire table to themselves.

Waverly ducked quickly into the shadows as voices approached from behind. She waited until they passed and then poked her head out to watch the young man once more, her curiosity overriding her apprehension.

The three young men who had passed her were walking purposefully toward Shorty’s, two of them bickering loudly to each other around the man in the middle, who was shorter than the others and wearing the decorated tricorn of a captain. Waverly watched curiously, unable to hear what the men were arguing about over the din of Shorty’s other patrons. The men slowed as they approached the door, smiling at each other good naturedly and letting the third enter first.

The captain turned to the young man at the table, shrugging off their coat and removing their hat in one fluid movement. Waverly froze in shock and awe. The captain was a _woman_.

She was one of the most beautiful women Waverly had ever seen, and one of the most curiously dressed. She wore a deep grey vest over a startlingly white shirt with full sleeves. Her vest covered the top of her fitted black breeches, which were tucked into knee-high, coffee-colored calfskin boots. Her navy blue coat was slung over the back of her chair, and Waverly could just make out the glinting silver buttons. The captain’s tricorn sat on the table next to her, black with intricate silver trim that Waverly was sure must be beautiful up close. She wore her fiery red hair short, just above her shoulders, and pinned part of it back from her face in a short braid at the back of her head.

The woman slouched back in her chair, one foot resting against the table, an easy confidence about her as the young sailor handed her a full mug of ale. She smiled, wide and easy, before raising it in a toast to her companions, and—

Waverly’s world went black.

Panic and rage tore through her, searing white hot, as she felt the cloth of the bag against her face and a man’s hands on her waist. She reached for the dagger at her side and scratched behind her, trying desperately to get the bag off her face.

“Get off me you insufferable shitstains!” she screeched as she could feel them dragging her further into the darkness of the alley. “Let me go!”

Her fist closed around the dagger’s hilt and she slashed wildly, finding grim satisfaction as the man behind her cried out in pain.

“Put her out already!” came a gruff call near her right ear. She tried to strike out at him, but someone caught her arms and pinned them to her sides.

There was a flash of pain at the back of her head, and everything went dark.

* * *

Waverly woke slowly, sitting up and rubbing the back of her head where a splitting headache was starting to form.

The floor pitched down abruptly, throwing Waverly back onto the small cot she had been lying on. One hand still on the back of her head, she pressed her back straight against the wall, using her other arm to brace herself as the floor pitched again. If the damn floor didn’t knock it off soon, Waverly was going to be sick.

She pressed herself harder against the wall and looked around. She was in a small, sparse room. The walls were plain wood, empty but for a single round window on the opposite wall. There was a wash basin attached to a crate in one corner and a chamberpot in the other, and the door to her right had no handle.

“This is _so_ not what I meant when I said I didn’t want to go back to the tavern,” Waverly grumbled to herself as she stood on shaky legs. The floor pitched more violently under her feet, sending her stumbling into the wall.

She braced herself with one hand on the wall and made her way slowly to the window, body crouched to avoid losing her balance. The world tilted, rocking back and forth in a rhythm that Waverly wasn’t sure she would ever get the hang of. Hands gripping the edge of the window, she pulled herself into a standing position.

“ _Shit._ ”

Water. The only thing she could see out the window was water. The sun glinted off foam-tipped waves as understanding clawed its way through the fog in her aching head.

She was on a ship. Someone had kidnapped her and stuck her in a tiny room on a ship. A ship that, if the view out her window was any indication, was well on its way to the open ocean.

“Double shit. What the holy hell—”

“That’s no way for a lady to talk.” Waverly whipped around, nearly losing her balance as a wave of nausea engulfed her and the ship jolted again beneath her feet. There was a man in the doorway. His cheek was a mess of ugly purple bruises surrounding a deep gash that extended from his ear to the side of his nose, and his coat was a half-size too small.

“ _You._ ” Waverly seethed, murder in her eyes and rage in her bones. “You did this to me!”

She tried to rush him, hand going to the empty sheath in her skirt as the ship pitched back. The floor rushed to meet her and the man laughed as she sprawled on the ground.

“Ha! That was almost worth what you did to my face! Come on.” He yanked her roughly to her feet, wrenching one of her arms behind her back before beginning to march her forward through the door.

“Let. Me. Go!” Waverly struggled as best she could but the pain in her arm and head threatened to overwhelm her. The ship rocked again. She was definitely going to be sick.

“You’re lucky the boss paid me well to keep you from harm, _young lady_.” He continued marching her in front of him towards a set of stairs at the far end of the deck’s main area. He wrenched her arm harder and laughed as Waverly cried out in pain.

“So much for no harm,” she muttered as he pushed her up the stairs.

They stumbled out onto the main deck and Waverly recoiled from the bright sunlight. The man pushed her harder toward a group of men standing at mid-deck.

She squinted hard at them, trying to put the pieces together, but her brain would not cooperate. Looking up, she could just make out a British flag flying atop the main mast.

“Oi! Boss! She’s awake!” the burly man yelled. Waverly flinched from the noise, but he didn’t seem to notice, still maneuvering them steadily forward. One of the men turned and Waverly’s vision narrowed to nothing, red rage obscuring everything around her.

_Tucker. Fucking. Gardner._

Tucker motioned to one of the sailors, probably the first mate if his shabbily embroidered vest was any indication. The other two men were dressed in what appeared to be rags.

“TUCKER, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Waverly roared at him, ignoring the pain in her arm and her head, ignoring the seasickness, ignoring anything that prevented her from wringing Tucker’s scrawny neck until his eyes popped right out of his stupid head.

She tried to reach for her dagger, only to remember it wasn’t there. Instead, she settled for struggling hard against the man who held her.

“Looking for this?”

With a flick of his wrist, Tucker pulled her dagger carefully from a pocket in his coat. Sunlight reflected off the steel and Waverly wished she had run it through his throat when she had the chance.

“ _Get your hands off it_ ,” she growled through gritted teeth. “That’s _mine_.”

“Oh!” Tucker raised his hand to his mouth in mock surprise as he let the dagger clatter to the deck. “I’m so sorry, Waverly. I did not realize it agitated you so.”

He kicked at it and the dagger slid across the deck behind him. Waverly watched as one of the ragged deck hands picked it up and skittered off toward the Captain’s quarters.

She fought harder against her captor, crying out and falling to her knees as he wrenched her arm so hard it nearly broke.

Tucker calmly walked closer and crouched down beside her, lifting her chin with one finger and forcing her to look at him.

“You’re wild, Waverly. Out of your mind. I can fix this, fix _you_. You just need to accept it,” he murmured gently. Waverly’s skin crawled and she fought the urge to vomit.

He looked hard at her, searching her eyes for something.

A few moments later, Tucker stepped back and nodded at the man that held her tight. “Let her up, Tate. She’s calmed down now. Haven’t you, Waverly?”

Waverly stared at him, defiant through her watering eyes. The man, Tate, kneed her hard in the ribs. She cried out and nodded frantically.

“Okay, _okay_. Fine. I’m calm.” Tate released her arm and Waverly slumped to the deck, arm shaking as feeling slowly returned to her fingers. She stood cautiously, glaring at Tucker but determined to keep herself in one piece.

“Excellent!” Tucker beamed at her. One of the sailors appeared from behind her holding the most beautiful dress Waverly had ever seen. It was pale green silk with white ribbon-trimmed sleeves and ornate embroidery on the bodice and hemline. Small crystals glittered like tiny stars along the collar. It must have been worth a fortune.

“Now, Waverly.” Tucker took the dress and offered it out to her. “You’re sick with grief, and that is understandable. But you need to clear your head if you are to be my wife. I’m taking you home, where you can gather your thoughts in peace. Away from that barbaric colony.”

“You’re taking me back to _England_?” Waverly said, shocked at his audacity. “Tucker, I’ve never even been to England!”

It was true, Waverly’s grandfather had been one of the earliest English settlers in Port Royal, back when it was still under Spanish rule. Neither she nor her sisters had ever desired to see their homeland, though their father talked often of going back. Waverly could picture the life Tucker had planned for her, stuck on some estate far away from the ocean, unable to read or explore, while catering to his every whim. She despised the idea.

Oh god, he would probably never let her near a library again.

“—and that’s why this will be good for you, Waverly. It’s time you saw what proper culture looked like.”

Aw, crap. She had completely missed whatever Tucker was droning on about. One thing was for certain though, she was _not_ going to England.

“Tucker,” Waverly started as calmly as she could. “I’m not going to England.”

“What are you talking about? Of course you are!” He stared at her in disbelief. “This ship is going to England and there is nothing you can do about it!”

“I’m not going, Tucker! Take me back to Port Royal. Now!” Waverly’s voice rose with her panic. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to be heading for the colonies. And now Tucker had kidnapped her and he didn’t even have the decency to be heading in the right direction!

Tucker stormed up to her, face inches from hers, and sneered “You _are_ going to England. You _will_ be my wife. Now,” he said lowly, shoving the dress into her hands. “Take it.”

“I would never,” she growled.

Waverly stepped back, mustered all her strength, and spit in Tucker’s face.

Movement exploded behind her as Tate grabbed her wrists, pulled them behind her back, and forced her to her knees. Tucker, disgusted, fell backward in his attempt to get away from her. Waverly just grinned at him, cold and menacing.

“Ugh, fine!” Tucker wiped at his face with a handkerchief. “You have spirit Waverly. I like that. But you _will_ learn proper manners.”

He looked up at Tate.

“Take her to the brig until she’s willing to cooperate.” He turned and began to walk away.

Waverly’s panic returned, her small victory overshadowed by the prospect of being thrown back into the darkness.

“No! Please!” She struggled harder as Tate dragged her back toward the stairs.

“Tucker!” she screamed. “Tucker, please! Don’t do this! _Please_!”

He didn’t look back.

Waverly screamed and fought but Tate hardly seemed to notice. Down past the deck with her little room, down past the sailor’s quarters and the gun deck, down into the dark and dank and cold.

Down among the cargo, tucked into a corner, the brig was little more than a metal cage with a plank bench across one side. Tate held the lantern he had grabbed in one hand and kicked the door open with his foot. He tossed Waverly roughly into the cell, slamming the door as she rushed it.

“Please!” Tears were streaming down her face now as she gripped the bars, all pretense dropped. “Please, I’m begging you. Please just leave the lantern!”

Tate locked the door and sneered at her, holding the lantern close. “How about a trade then?”

Waverly nodded hastily, anything to stay out of the dark.

“I’ll give you this lantern if you go back in time and fix my face!”

He laughed harshly, holding the lantern just out of Waverly’s struggling reach.

“Have fun down here!”

His laughter receding with the light, Waverly sank onto the plank bench. She drew her knees up to her chest as the last of the light fell away and cried.

* * *

“Come mourn, come mourn, come mourn with me.”

Waverly hummed quietly to herself in the darkness. She lay on the plank and tried hard to remember what light looked like.

“Ye loyal lovers all.”

She rolled onto her side, hunger gnawing at her empty stomach. Opening her eyes wide, hoping for any shred of light, Waverly kept singing. It was all she had left. There was no time, no day or night, no food, no people, just the darkness. The darkness and the creaking of the ship and the scurrying of the rats.

“Lament my loss, in weeds of woe.”

There was a distant crash on the decks above, the ship groaning and shuddering with the force. Faintly, she could hear men shouting. Waverly sang on.

“Whom gripping Death doth thrall… AHHH!”

She curled into a ball, her hands flying to her face as the room was bathed in bright sunlight.

“What the hell! What the hell?  _What the hell!_ ”

Waverly slowly moved her hands and tried to squint through the tears in her burning eyes. She rubbed them hard; this had to be a hallucination.

But there it was! Streaming through the wall like a gift from god or a… cannonball? She followed the source of the hole in the hull through several shattered crates to the far wall, where there was indeed a cannonball embedded in a large barrel. Scraps of wood lay strewn about, many of them peppered with musketballs.

The shouts and screams of men and women — _where did the women come from?_ Waverly thought — rang sharply through the air now that they weren’t filtered through three decks.

From down the hall Waverly could hear a pair of bickering voices grow louder as they approached. Somehow, it sounded familiar, as if Waverly had heard those same voices a lifetime ago.

She pressed herself into the corner of her cell, hoping the darkness would hide her as two men appeared from the hallway.

“I do believe, Xavier, that the captain put _me_ in charge of this little expedition to the loot.” The shorter of the two men was talking animatedly. Well dressed in brown sailor’s breeches and a white shirt under a tan vest, his most distinguished feature was the impressive mustache that twitched when he spoke.

“Sure she did, Doc, but only to make you feel better about losing your damn hat. Everyone knows I’m a better leader,” the taller one argued. He was dark skinned and stoic, with a bare head and a brightly colored cloth tied around his waist. His sailor’s breeches and shirt were both a deep brown. Neither man had seen her.

 _The men from the tavern!_ Waverly knew she had recognized their voices. And if these men were here, and there were cannonballs in the hull…

“Pirates,” she whispered to herself. They must have been boarded by pirates!

Without hesitation, Waverly knew they were her only hope for escape. If they refused her, she might never see daylight again.

Waverly moved out of the shadows, pressing herself against the bars closest to where the men had disappeared, and screamed.

She heard the men’s footsteps stop, then grow louder as they rushed back toward her cell.

They burst through an opening in the rows of cargo, shock on both their faces, and cautiously approached the brig.

“Please help me! Please! I can’t stay here!” Waverly did not wait for introductions, too frantic for rational thought.

The men recoiled in shock at the sight before them, appalled at the treatment of the woman in the brig. Waverly was a mess. Her hair was disheveled, her tear streaked face covered in dirt and grime, her dress hung tattered and loose on her thin frame, shoes long forgotten. And sheer, animalistic panic in her wide eyes.

The shorter man, _Doc,_ some distant part of her brain said, stepped toward the brig.

“Excuse me ma’am,” he said gently, “How did you come to be here?”

“Have to get out. Not supposed to be here. _Please,_ ” she said, quiet and desperate.

“Doc,” the taller man, _Xavier,_ her brain screamed at her, said quietly. “Do you think _she’s_ why he left in such a hurry?”

“Aw, hell.” Understanding dawned on Doc’s face and he shared a look with the taller man. “We cannot leave her here, Xavier.”

“Agreed.” Xavier nodded curtly. He moved close to the bars, gently prying Waverly’s hands away and holding them in his own.

“We are going to get you out of here,” he said slowly, as if to a child. “But first, I need you to move back to that far corner.” He pointed to the corner in the dark. Waverly shook her head.

“I am going to shoot the lock off the door,” Doc said quickly, “I need you as far away as possible so that you are not injured when the lock goes flying.”

“I was fine when you shot that cannon through the hull.” Waverly groaned even as she moved toward the far corner.

Once she was wedged on top of the bench, Doc stood facing the cargo and pulled a pistol out of his belt. He took aim quickly, and a moment later the broken lock lay smoldering on the floor. The door swung open and Waverly was out like a shot. She threw her arms around Doc’s waist, tears flowing heavy down her face.

“Thank you!” she sobbed into his vest.

She could feel movement behind her and then Xavier’s hand was on her shoulder, providing gentle reassurance. They stayed like for a moment, until a sound at the end of the hall leading to the stairs drew their attention. Doc spun quickly, pushing Waverly behind him and raising his pistol in one fluid movement.

“Xavier…” he said lowly.

“Listen to me.” Xavier leaned down and held her arms gently. “We need to get out of here. To do that I need you to follow my instructions exactly, okay?”

Waverly looked up into kind eyes and found herself nodding.

“Alright. Here’s what we’re going to do,” he spoke quickly and efficiently. “We are going to head up to the main deck. I will go first and Doc will bring up the rear. No matter what happens, you stay between the two of us. Alright?”

Waverly nodded again and they started off down the hall, Xavier overtaking Doc, who pushed Waverly gently in front of himself.

“Wait!” Waverly remembered suddenly “My mother’s dagger! Tucker had it but one of the sailors took it! I think they gave it to the captain.”

Xavier looked apprehensive, weighing his words carefully. “We will do our best to find it, but first we need to get out of here.”

“Thank you,” Waverly said softly.

They continued down the hall and up the stairs, meeting no one until they reached the crew’s quarters. Tate charged at them from a side door, his face unbruised and the gash healing fast, screaming about dirty pirates. Xavier flattened them against the wall with one hand, the other grabbing at the hilt of Tate’s sword. His muscles tensed as he wrenched the sword from Tate’s hands and ran him through. They kept moving.

They burst onto the main deck and Waverly’s arms flew to her head, shielding her eyes from the sun. It was overwhelming.

In the bright light of the day, all Waverly could see was chaos. The main mast was little more than a stump, three quarters of it shorn off. The rigging and sails were shredded to pieces, and sailors lay strewn over the deck. Some were crushed beneath the fallen mast, a few had lost limbs to shrapnel, but most had been shot or stabbed. She could not bring herself to mourn them, these men who had let her rot in the dark.

A smaller ship, heavily armed with a deck lined by musketmen, was tethered to the railing. The scent of blood and gunpowder saturated the air.

Doc and Xavier stayed back against the wall, waiting for a signal. Waverly squinted around, taking in the carnage and letting her eyes adjust to the light.

A commotion on the far side of the ship drew their attention, and as Waverly followed the noise, time seemed to slow.

The pirate captain from the tavern was here. She stood tall on the forecastle deck, her sword held loosely in one hand as she surveyed the damage and bellowed orders to the musketmen on the other ship. They began stowing their weapons, preparing to board and remove as much cargo as their ship could hold.

One of the few remaining sailors from Tucker’s crew, a tall, lanky, snake of a man, climbed down from the shrouds where he had been hiding and charged the captain. She spun around as his feet hit the deck, and Waverly found herself unable to look away.

The captain moved like water, agile and effortless. She watched in awe as the fiery woman dodged and parried in an intricate dance and, in a moment that seemed to last for eternity, Waverly watched as she found her opening. The lanky man’s feet lifted off the ground with the force of her strike. Bloodsoaked steel shimmered in the sun, and the captain pulled her sword from his chest in one swift motion. She let him fall and made her way down the steps to the main deck.

As she reached the bottom stair a hand lashed out, struggling to hold the captain’s leg. It belonged, Waverly noticed, to the first mate. He lay gasping for breath on the ground, struggling to aim his pistol at her. He tried to hold her in place as a sharp crack rang out across the deck. Faster than Waverly could register and without slowing her pace, the pirate captain had pulled her own pistol and fired. The first mate crumpled to the ground, blood trickling from the shot right between his eyes.

Xavier touched her arm, jolting her from the trance the pirate captain had put her under.

“We need to move. Follow us straight to the ship okay? Just over there.” He pointed to a gangplank laid between the two ships.

The doors to the captain’s quarters burst open behind them as Tucker scrambled onto the deck, pistol held clumsily in his hand.

“Stop!” he roared, spittle flying as he flew toward them, leveling the pistol at the group.

Xavier stepped around Waverly to stand next to Doc. They both had their pistols drawn, bodies firmly planted between her and Tucker.

He stopped dead in his tracks, waving the pistol like a child throwing a tantrum.

“She’s _mine!_ You can’t take her!” he whined.

The sound of a hammer cocking to the left drew Waverly’s attention.

The captain stood a few feet away, pistol leveled at Tucker’s head, posture lazy and calm. It was her eyes that gave her away, blazing with hatred and rage. They forced even Waverly to recoil.

“You take one more step toward that girl or my ship and I will blow your head clean off your shoulders,” she said, her tone low and dangerous.

She shifted toward them, eyes never leaving Tucker and pistol still raised. “Go. Now.”

Xavier pulled gently on Waverly’s arm and she squeaked in surprise, following quickly behind. Doc stopped to whisper something in the captain’s ear and she paused in her retreat, ordering them to do the same.

“Excuse me,” she said with faux politeness. “But I believe you have something that belongs to this young woman?”

“I, uh… I mean, I—” Tucker stuttered.

“Return the dagger, you little shit,” the captain growled.

Tucker huffed in protest, but reached into his coat and produced the dagger, kicking it across the deck.

The captain turned to Waverly.

“Is that it?” she questioned softly.

Waverly nodded.

“Well then.” The captain turned back to Tucker, catching him as he tried to raise his pistol. “That will be all. Thank you ever so much for your time.”

She bent low and scooped the dagger up, stashing it in her belt and retreating toward her ship.

Xavier scooped Waverly into his arms and started down the gangplank, Doc following just behind them.

“It’s easier to balance,” he whispered reassuringly to her.

He set her down on the deck as a shot rang out. The captain, a positively giddy smile on her face, raced down the gangplank.

“You should’ve seen his face!” she wheezed through her laughter, all hint of the deadly fighter Waverly had seen on Tucker’s ship gone. “One shot in the air was all it took to send that little shit skittering below deck like a rat!”

A few moments later, the captain had regained her composure. She stood tall, taller than Waverly had expected, and regarded her curiously, even as she gave orders to the rest of the crew. Waverly could not bring herself break the captain’s gaze.

“—once that’s finished, sink her.”

“Yes, captain!” The young sailor in the colorful vest hurried off to complete whatever tasks the captain had assigned him. Waverly had missed most of their conversation, her elation at finally being free quickly losing out to her exhaustion.

The captain was standing in front of her now, and Waverly was painfully aware of how terrible she looked. And probably smelled. The captain pretended not to notice.

“May I ask what your name is?” she asked kindly.

“Waverly,” Waverly muttered. “Waverly Earp.”

“Oh, like the rum!” The captain answered excitedly.

“Well, sort of.” Waverly could feel her cheeks burning.

The captain gave her a questioning look but did not pry. She extended her hand jovially.

“Well, Waverly Earp, my name is Captain Nicole Haught. Welcome to The Calamity Jane.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, Everyone, to the pirate AU no one asked for! Will Waverly ever find Wynonna? Will Doc get over the loss of his hat? Stay tuned to find out!
> 
> Seriously though, thank you guys so much for reading this. It's my first multi-chapter fic, so I hope it's going well. If you have any questions or want to ramble about pirates, come find me at parliament-of-owlets on tumblr!
> 
> Oh last thing, all my knowledge about the golden age of piracy is from reading and research i've done on my own, so if there are any mistakes or corrections, just let me know.


	2. August 12, 1679

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly finally gets a break, and learns a bit about the people who saved her life in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments on chapter one! I am so thrilled you guys like this story because I absolutely love writing it. Special thanks to my friend and incredible beta, Newt!

“Captain!”

Captain Haught turned, hand still extended in Waverly’s direction. The young sailor in the colorful vest was waving and pointing at something from the quarterdeck. They followed his pointing to a section of rigging on the mainsail that had tangled around itself. It was strange, Waverly noticed, that the sail was angular and facing front to back. She had never seen a mainsail like that on a ship this large.

“Just fix it, Lonnie!” Captain Haught yelled to the sailor, staring hard at him as he scrambled into the shrouds and up toward the rigging at the back end of the sail.

“Sorry about that,” she turned back to Waverly with a smile. “Where were we? Oh yes! Welcome to _The Calamity Jane_!”

Captain Haught’s hands were rough and calloused from years of work at sea. Still, the captain gripped her hand gently, and Waverly found herself surprised at how much comfort she took in the gesture.

“Thank you, Captain Haught.” She shook her hand gingerly, holding on just a moment longer than necessary.

“You are very welcome, Ms. Earp,” Captain Haught said sincerely.

“Captain, a word?” Xavier approached the captain quickly, an urgent look in his eyes.

Captain Haught glanced at him, and Waverly saw a flash of worry in her eyes, so quick that she wasn’t sure it had really ever been there. The captain’s eyes were full of determination as she looked around.

“Doc!”

Doc appeared at her side a moment later. She gave Waverly an apologetic look. “You will have to excuse me, Ms. Earp. We have a spare room you may use; Doc will show you to it.”

She turned and hurried toward the gangplank still connecting the two ships, talking animatedly with Xavier and looking serious.

“I do not believe that we have officially met,” Doc said from beside Waverly. He bowed low, reaching for a hat he wasn’t wearing. “Oh, right,” he said forlornly as he straightened.

Waverly stifled a giggle and attempted a curtsy. She stumbled slightly, unused to so much space after being stuck in her cramped little cell.

“My name is John Henry Holliday,” he said with a flourish. “But most people just call me ‘Doc’. I am the first mate aboard _The Calamity Jane_.”

“I’m Waverly. Thank you for saving my life,” she said earnestly.

“Come. I will show you to your room.” He looked her over carefully and noticed how loosely her dress hung on her small frame. “You must be exhausted and absolutely famished.”

Waverly noticed, for the first time that day, that she was well and truly _starving_. Her stomach grumbled angrily as hunger began to gnaw at her.

Doc tossed an arm around Waverly’s shoulders and began walking them toward a door at the back of the ship, just below the quarterdeck. Waverly could feel her nerves rising. Panic threatened to overwhelm her the closer they got to the door.

“No!” Waverly pushed herself away from him, surprised at the lack of resistance she faced. Doc had recoiled, withdrawing his arm as quickly as he could. “I won’t go back in the dark!” She scrambled backward, trying to put a few feet of distance between herself and the first mate. “You might as well just throw me overboard.”

He looked at her seriously, and Waverly began to worry if he really was considering throwing her overboard.

“Waverly,” Doc said lowly. “I have no intention of throwing you back in the dark. I would not have saved you if I had any intention of hurting you in any way.”

He stepped closer, reaching out slowly and placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Our empty room is just below deck. It will allow you some privacy while you recover, and it has a window.” He smiled, comforting and warm, and Waverly found herself nodding.

“How about this?” Doc leaned in and grinned conspiratorially. “I will let you carry the lantern.”

He took a lit lantern from a hook just inside the door and placed it into Waverly’s shaking hands. She gulped, shaking her head and telling herself that this already felt different, that this man wasn’t like _him_. She gathered all the courage she had left and walked through the door.

There was a wide staircase to her left, and she could just see the light streaming in through the gunports if she craned her head around the wall. Doc waited near the entrance to a narrow corridor just ahead of her.

“It is usually a little bit brighter in here when we do not have all the hatches battened down,” Doc said apologetically. “Your room is up here.” 

Waverly followed the direction he pointed and noticed several doors on either side. Doc walked to the third door on the right, near the very end of the corridor. He waited for Waverly to catch up, the lantern bobbing as she made her way to the door.

“This will be your room for the duration of your stay here.” Doc opened the door, and Waverly breathed a sigh of relief as sunlight streamed into the hall.

She stepped cautiously into the doorway, glancing at the interior side of the door as memories of the awful room on Tucker’s ship and the door without a handle flashed before her eyes like a nightmarish magic lantern. Assured that there was indeed a handle on the inside of the door, she stepped fully inside and took in the small but welcoming space. 

The walls were a deep honey. The stained wood reflected the incoming sunlight to bathe the room in a warm glow. Across from the window was a small bed with a trunk at its foot. There was a washbasin opposite the door, a washing cloth perched on its edge and steam rising from its surface. _Clean water!_ Waverly nearly melted on the spot.

Doc ushered her into the middle of the room.

“I will be back in a moment, Waverly,” he said before disappearing back down the hall.

Waverly looked around the room in his absence, checking that the door was still open. 

“I know it is not much,” Doc murmured, returning a few minutes later. “But there is hot water in the basin, and this should be roughly your size, if you wish to clean up.” He placed a clean cotton shift and a plain grey canvas dress on the lid of the trunk. 

“You are not a prisoner here, Waverly, and I hope that you do not feel like one. I would request that you stay here for the time being, as we have much to do. I will be back to check on you shortly,” Doc said as he moved toward the door. 

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Waverly nodded distractedly. The thought of a proper washing after… however much time it had been, was heaven. 

Doc nodded, reaching again for his lost hat and frowning at its absence. With a discontented grumble, he closed the door as he departed.

Waverly checked that the door was latched and began to strip away her soiled, tattered clothes, tossing them into a pile near the door. She moved closer to the basin, delighted at the feeling of the steam hitting her face. She washed carefully, scraping the grime of the brig from her body and scrubbing until her skin was pink. When at last she felt clean, she pulled on the cotton shift and flopped down onto the bed, sighing in relief as she sank into the mattress.

Comfortable and warm for the first time in longer than she could remember, Waverly Earp drifted into a dreamless sleep. 

* * *

The gentle rocking of the ship and the chiming of bells somewhere overhead drew Waverly into wakefulness. 

She awoke slowly, blearily looking around as best she could without actually getting up. She tried to remember where she was. There was light streaming in through a window, and she felt pleasantly rested, stretched across a bed that was softer than any she had slept on in weeks.

Waverly tucked one hand under the pillow, feeling around for the scrap of parchment before bolting upright as the last few days came crashing back.

She was on a ship. And Tucker was there. And it was cold and _dark_ and two men saved her and brought her to the prettiest ship captain she had ever seen. _Pirate captain_ , she corrected herself. 

 _But_ _what had she done with the scrap?_

Waverly felt for the pocket in her corset before remembering that she wasn’t wearing it and looked frantically around the small room. There, on the floor just past the small chest and neatly folded dress at the end of her bed, were her old clothes.

She shot out of bed, stumbling to her knees to reach for the old dress. Her fingers were clumsy in their haste as she nearly tore the pocket open. She held the scrap to her chest, breath slowing as relief flooded through her.

The ship rolled gently under her as she got to her feet. She sat on the edge of the bed, letting the motion of the ship calm her nerves as she placed the scrap under her pillow.

Waverly tried to think over the last few days—had it been days? The angry pains in her stomach told her it must have been at least a few days since she had last eaten, but, from the light streaming through the window, it appeared as if only a few hours passed since she laid down to rest.

Resolved to figure out just what was going on around here, Waverly began to get ready. She combed her fingers through her hair and pulled on the tidy grey canvas dress. It was rougher than her cotton dresses, but well made. Its sturdiness gave her confidence as she turned the door’s handle and peered out into the hall.

There was bright light and a pair of voices ahead. _Guess they unbattoned the hatches,_ Waverly thought to herself as she closed the door softly behind her. She headed toward the voices, straining to hear what they were saying.

“Six still down.”

“How is Rosita for supplies?” Waverly recognized Doc’s voice asking questions as she crept closer, but she didn’t recognize the other.

“Everything has been replenished, and the boys finished taking stock of the new cargo this morning,” the voice said. “It’s being loaded and stored as we speak.”

“Excellent work, Lonnie. We might make a proper quartermaster out of you yet!” Doc praised.

Waverly had reached the landing and peered around the corner. Several hatches along the walls and ceiling had been thrown open, and somewhere further down it looked as if the roof had disappeared completely. Sunlight and sea air filtered in, and Waverly could see that Doc and the sailor in the colorful vest were standing near the stairs.

“Waverly! You are awake!” Doc exclaimed, catching sight of her from under a rather ornate Cavalier hat.

“And you found your hat!” she said, stepping lightly down the stairs.

Doc looked sheepish. “Alas I did not. I did, however, liberate this fine hat from a rather nasty fellow aboard the _Glory_.”

Waverly stared at him. _Of course he stole it_ , she thought. _It does look good on him, though_.

“Alrighty then,” she said as she looked around, finally able to see the long room properly.

It appeared to extend almost the entire length of the ship, with eight gunports on each side, their cannons strapped securely to the floor, and two huge posts— _t_ _he masts_ , Waverly realized—splitting the room down the middle. Waverly wandered between the closest cannon and the wall, inhaling the fresh air and peering out of the opened hatch. The sky was clear and bright as the waves sped by below.

“Beautiful sight, is it not?” Doc said from behind her.

“It is,” she said, turning to face him. “Doc, how long was I out?”

Doc looked away, unable to meet her eyes as he scratched the back of his neck in thought. Lonnie looked as if he had suddenly remembered an urgent task and hurried off.

“Doc?” Waverly pressed.

“You have been asleep for a day and a half, Waverly,” Doc said apologetically.

“ _What?!_ ” Waverly yelled. “How is that possible? I haven’t slept more than a few hours in _months_!”

“I think it is best if you keep the rest of your questions for the captain,” Doc said. “She is expecting you.”

“Now?” Waverly asked. Her stomach growled angrily again. She really wished she had some food.

“As soon as you awake.” Doc looked sympathetically at her. “Come on. Best not keep the captain waiting.”

He led Waverly back to the stairs and up onto the main deck. It was a completely different scene than she last remembered. The sails billowed, full of wind and speeding them along. She craned her neck, taking in the sailors up in the rigging, climbing here to fix a rope, swinging there to cut a knot, running along the yards to make adjustments. The deck was no less busy, men and women worked swiftly, shouting orders, swabbing the deck, cleaning and racking weapons, and lowering the last of the cargo through an opening in the main deck—the hole she saw earlier.

“This way.” Doc pointed up, toward the quarterdeck, as they ascended a set of stairs to the right. “Captain Haught’s quarters are just back here.”

Waverly could see two simple, identical doors in the back wall. One was centered in the back wall, the other was on the right, close to the railing that framed the quarterdeck. They were nothing like the ornate, glass paned doors of Tucker’s ship. Doc knocked on the center door, three taps in quick succession.

“Come in!” a voice called over the din.

Doc opened the door and motioned for Waverly to enter, but he did not follow her in. The door closed behind her with a soft click, muffling the noise from outside. Distantly, Waverly could hear a bell ringing.

The office before her was simple and organized. To her right, a polished wood bar top was built into the wall. The cabinets above the bar displayed neatly stacked polished wood and crystal tumblers, visible through doors of wood-framed glass. The cabinets below were sturdier, made of carved wood and locked tight. Waverly wondered if there was a bottle of Devil’s Honey among the booze likely stored there.

To her left was a large bookcase, also built into the wall, with a brass bar running along each shelf to keep the many books from falling when the ship moved. Further down was a round table with two plush chairs, each made of the same polished wood as the bar top and piled high with food. Waverly’s mouth began to water as the heavenly smells of spiced pastries reached her.

She stepped onto the large, intricate rug covered most of the floor in front of her and had to stop herself from running to the table. Before her, Captain Haught sat behind a large desk, poring over a sheaf of papers.

“Ah, Ms. Earp!” Captain Haught said without looking up from the paperwork she was reading. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

She tied the papers neatly and placed them in a drawer.

“Please.” She moved around the desk and gestured to the table. “You have perfect timing. Jeremy just brought supper.”

Waverly nearly cried with joy. She took the seat closest to the door and began hurriedly filling her plate with fish, rice, and fried pastries like the ones she bought on her last day in Port Royal. Captain Haught sat gingerly across the table, observing her closely.

She was nearly finished with her first plate, mopping up the remains with a bit of hardtack, before she realized that Captain Haught had been staring at her. She was glad that, at the very least, the captain had allowed her to eat before whatever she had in store for her.

“Hm?” Waverly said through a mouthful of food.

Captain Haught watched her carefully, her face unreadable. “Ms. Earp, do you know how long you were in the _Glory’_ s brig?”

"Glory?” Waverly questioned distractedly, already reaching for another pastry.

“Mr. Gardner’s ship,” the captain clarified.

Waverly paused, setting her unfinished pastry on her plate and trying to think back.

“Well, Captain Haught—” Waverly began slowly.

“Please, call me Nicole.”

“Alright, Nicole,” Waverly started again. “Those _shit tickets_ grabbed me from Port Royal on the 28th.”

 _The night I saw you_ , Waverly thought to herself.

“I don’t think I spent more than a few hours outside the brig, but one of the men brought me food once,” she mused. “Maybe three days?”

Nicole’s eyes grew cold and her whole body tensed. Waverly could feel a pit forming in her stomach as she got the distinct feeling that Nicole was about to tell her how very wrong she was. There was a long pause, and she could practically see Nicole trying to find the words to explain what had happened without causing her more pain.

“Ms. Earp,” she began slowly. “The _Glory_ left Port Royal fifteen days ago.”

“ _Two weeks?!_ ” Waverly nearly choked on her pastry. “How is that possible?”

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The constant hunger pains, the exhaustion, how ragged and ill-fitting her clothing had become.

“ _How could he do this to me?!_ ”

Her breath quickened and her hands balled into fists as the thought of revenge repeated itself over and over in her head. He had kept her locked up in the dark for two weeks. _Two weeks_. Two weeks of suffering in the damp dark cold, of listening to the rats scurry under her bench. _And he honestly expected me to marry him after that?_ she thought to herself. _He’s even dumber than he looks_.

Nicole reached across the table and covered Waverly’s balled fist with her hand. She rubbed her thumb gently over Waverly’s fingers, and Waverly found herself loosening her fists, her anger flowing away as she slowly relaxed under Nicole’s touch.

“Hey,” Nicole murmured gently, ducking to meet Waverly’s eyes, her own filled with calm comfort and the promise of protection. “Tucker Gardner was a _monster_.”

“He was,” Waverly agreed. She looked at Nicole curiously.

“Why didn’t you kill him?” she asked.

Nicole looked shocked for a moment, but it quickly disappeared.

“He wasn’t worth the shot,” she shrugged.

Waverly picked up her pastry, taking a large bite and regarding Nicole curiously as she chewed.

“And here I thought pirates were the monsters,” she mumbled under her breath. Nicole pulled her hand back, recoiling as if she had been burned. Waverly immediately missed the contact.

“ _Shit_. I’m so sorry,” Waverly rushed to cover her mistake. “That wasn’t—I didn’t mean… _you_ obviously aren’t a monster.”

She straightened in her chair and regarded Waverly coldly.

“What, exactly, do you know of us?” Nicole asked. Her tone was formal and detached.

“I know very little,” Waverly said, mentally kicking herself for openly insulting the people who had saved her life. “All that I know is that my father spent his life telling me stories of how monstrous pirates could be.”

There was a flash of something Waverly could not identify in Nicole’s eyes, but she continued, hoping that maybe Nicole could calm her fears.

“And that they would sooner kill you for a penny than call you friend.”

Nicole looked down, unable or unwilling to meet Waverly’s eyes.

“It is true,” she started slowly. “That some pirates are as cruel and callous as you describe. But we are no more monsters than your British Navy or your Spanish Merchants. After all, they have committed the same atrocities, have they not?”

“I’m s—” Waverly started, but Nicole held up a hand to silence her.

“There is a difference, Ms. Earp, between doing something monstrous and being a monster.” Nicole spoke softly. Waverly found herself leaning forward to hear her better.

“We came upon Mr. Gardner’s ship two days ago,” she said, staring hard at Waverly. “The good and law abiding people of the Caribbean would have us leave him and his men in peace. Even as you, locked in the brig, were carried to your eventual demise.”

Waverly shivered at the thought of still being locked in the brig.

Nicole continued in the same quiet voice. “Did you know most of the men on Mr. Gardner’s crew are criminals as well? No self-respecting sailor will voyage with Gardner Shipping. Not since young Mr. Gardner took over. They are murderers and slave traders and hired thugs, willing to snatch a woman off the street for a pretty penny.”  

Waverly winced at how closely Nicole’s words echoed her own.

“It is a monstrous thing to take a man’s life, Ms. Earp.” Nicole laced her fingers together and leaned over the table. “And by that metric, I am monstrous. But I am no monster. I do not trade in people, I do not kidnap or ransom or murder for sport. And neither does my crew.”

She leaned back in her chair as she finished, eyes serious.

Waverly met her gaze, searching for any trace of deceit or disdain. All she found was sincerity.

“Tucker Gardner is a monster,” she said quietly. “I am sorry I compared you to him.”

“I appreciate your apology, Ms. Earp, but I do hope that, in time, you will come to believe me,” Nicole said.

“Waverly,” Waverly said. “Call me Waverly.”

“Alright, Waverly,” Nicole said, warmth slowly seeping back into her voice. “Is there anything else you wish to know?”

“How did you find Tucker’s ship?” Waverly questioned, reaching for more hardtack and cheese.

“We heard he left Port Royal in a hurry.” Nicole shrugged and grabbed a spiced pastry off the plate. “His business is in deep trouble, so we figured he must have packed his fortune and fled to Britain.”

She settled back into her chair, taking a bite out of the pastry and chewing thoughtfully.

“Can I ask why you visited Gardner Shipping?” Nicole asked.

“Oh,” Waverly said, shoulders falling as she remembered her failures. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Does it have to do with your selling Earp Distillery to Beth Gardner?” Nicole questioned.

The hardtack and cheese clattered to the plate as Waverly stared at Nicole in shock. _How could she possibly have known that?_ she thought.

“How did you know?” Waverly questioned. Honestly, how many of her secrets did these people know?

“Shorty told me,” Nicole said matter-of-factly.

“That’s… part of it,” Waverly said hesitantly.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Waverly,” Nicole said. Her voice was laced with such sincerity it made Waverly’s chest hurt.

 _What do I have to lose?_ Waverly thought. It wasn’t like she knew about the scrap, or they would have taken it while she was sleeping. And if Nicole was telling the truth, then surely they would be able to help her. After all, they hadn’t thrown her overboard yet.

“My sister was kidnapped and taken to the colonies and I needed money for safe passage so that I could save her or kill every last one of the bastards,” she said in one hurried breath. Her words were so rushed that she wasn’t sure if Nicole had understood her at all.

She took a deep breath, calming her nerves and trying to explain properly. “I couldn’t run the distillery by myself, look for my sister, and find a new place to live at the same time,” she said, trying hard not to cry as the weight of her loss settled heavy on her shoulders. “So I chose.”

“Waverly, I’m so sorry,” Nicole said, reaching out and squeezing Waverly’s hand reassuringly. “We will be heading north to the colonies in a few weeks. You are welcome to stay aboard if you want. Otherwise, you may disembark at the next port.”

“What’s your price?” Waverly asked suspiciously. “Nothing is free.”

“All I ask is that, once you are sufficiently recovered, you do your part as a member of the crew.”

“ _Like hell!_ ” Waverly yanked her hand away, face scrunched into a disgusted grimace. “I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am, _Nicole_ , but I will _not_ stoop to prostitution!” 

Nicole paused for a moment, trying to work out what the hell had just happened. Then her eyes went wide and she burst out laughing. She slapped the table, resting her forehead on her hand as she laughed until tears ran down her cheeks.

“Oh my god!” She wheezed out, “Waverly, I meant become a cook or a sailor or something!”

Waverly’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but soon she couldn’t help but join in, chuckling as Nicole gasped for breath.

“I think I can do that,” Waverly said, her smile soft and full of hope.

“Alright then,” Nicole said as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I will let the crew know that we have a new recruit in our midst.”

Faintly, Waverly could hear a bell ringing outside. Nicole stood, gesturing at Waverly to do the same, and moved toward her desk.

Waverly, no longer distracted by the food, noticed that she was dressed much less formally than the last few times she had seen her. Nicole had on a loose-fitting linen shirt, simple grey vest, and tan canvas breeches that reached just past her knees. She was, Waverly noticed, barefoot.

“Don’t worry,” she said, returning to Waverly. ”You’ll get used to the bells.”

“What are they for?” Waverly asked curiously as Nicole walked her to the door.

“They tell the time. Each chime denotes another half hour, eight per watch,” Nicole explained.

Waverly reached for the door handle but Nicole stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“One more thing,” she said.

Waverly looked at her curiously. Nicole pulled a dagger from her belt, offering it to Waverly handle first.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

Waverly took the dagger carefully.

“Thank you for saving this,” she whispered reverently, inspecting the dagger from point to handle

Nicole looked at her seriously for a moment. “It it yours to keep and wear as you wish, but please remember, my crew is nearly as skilled as I am and while they will not harm you, they will not hesitate to defend themselves.”

Waverly nodded quickly.

“That being said, if any one of these scoundrels gives you trouble, come straight to me.” Nicole smiled at her as she pulled the door open and stuck her head out.

“Xavier!” she yelled.

He appeared a moment later in the doorway, stoic as always.

“Captain?” he questioned.

“I need you take Waverly to see Jeremy. She’s going to need supplies,” Nicole ordered, though it sounded much more like a request.

She turned to Waverly. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to return to.”

She ushered Waverly out, closing the door behind her.

“I don’t think we’ve met properly yet,” Xavier said politely. “I am Xavier Dolls, first mate of this ship.” He shook Waverly’s hand gently.

“You’re first mate?” Waverly questioned, thinking back to what Doc had said earlier.

“Of course,” Xavier said as they started off toward the stairs. Waverly made a mental note to ask Nicole about it later.

As they headed down to the main deck, Waverly noticed that things had calmed considerably. The main hatch had been closed, the deck cleared of cargo and weapons. Those sailors not currently on watch meandered about, chatting and doing personal chores. One sailor sat leaned against the railing, concentrating hard on repairing a hole in one of her socks.

“The kitchen and most of the crew’s quarters are in the forecastle,” Xavier said, pointing toward the front of the ship. “Your quarters are aft.” He pointed behind him, never breaking his stride.

He opened a door on the left of the stairs to the forecastle deck and ducked inside.

Another narrow hallway split in front of her. To her left, it faded into darkness. But in front of her, it opened into a spacious room.

“Jeremy? You in here?” Xavier called.

“Ow!”

A counter along the wall in front of them rattled as something banged against it, shaking an assortment of jars and oils laid out on the countertop. A moment later a young man with caramel brown skin and a mop of messy black curls came into view, rubbing the top of his head and wincing.

“Xavier!” Jeremy caught sight of Waverly and his eyes widened in excitement. He wiped his hands on his apron and hurried over.

“Oh my gosh! You must be the girl they pulled from the brig!” He shook her hand vigorously. “Jeremy Chetri. Resident cook and junior boatswain.”

“Hi, Jeremy!” Waverly said excitedly. “Waverly.”

She wasn’t sure if it was because she was well rested or because her belly was full for the first time in two weeks, but his enthusiasm was infectious.

“Great! Well, welcome to _The Calamity Jane_!” Jeremy led her over to his workspace. “I’m helping Rosita make healing balms. Nothing major. Just something to help with burns and scrapes and—”

“Jeremy,” Xavier interrupted curtly. “We’re here to gather supplies for Waverly.”

“Oh, right,” Jeremy said sheepishly. “You probably need clothes and stuff, huh.”

Xavier turned to Waverly, looking her up and down. “Unfortunately, we don’t carry many dresses. But if you’re going to be working, you might not need them anyway.”

He turned to Jeremy. “Start with two pairs of breeches, stockings, shirts, and undergarments. A sheath for the blade.” He gestured to the dagger Waverly was still holding. “A proper belt, sailor’s jacket, and kerchief should do it.” He returned his attention to Waverly. “Do you know your way back to your room from here?”

Waverly nodded.

“Excellent.” Xavier headed for the door. “Please be on deck tomorrow morning, five bells past sunrise.”

“So,” Jeremy said. “The _Glory_ , huh. It must have been fascinating! I’ve never served on a merchant ship before, but I’ve heard they’re beautiful!”

“Uhm.” Waverly shrugged in confusion, hoping for a quick change of topic.

“Oh, right!” Jeremy smacked his forehead. “Sorry! I get kind of carried away sometimes. Are you doing alright? Need anything?”

He was already pulling a length of knotted string out of a pocket on his apron.

“Can you raise your arms?” he asked.

Waverly did as she was told, unsure what was happening but willing to entertain Jeremy’s requests. He held the string along her arm, counting the knots under his breath. He reached around her and Waverly jumped backward.

“Hey!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” Jeremy threw his hands up, the string nearly hitting him in the face in the process. “I just need rough measurements! The captain keeps some extra clothing on board and we got a bunch of new stuff from the _Glory_ , so I need to figure out what to grab for you!”

“Oh.” Waverly relaxed and held out her arms again. “Alrighty then, measure away!”

Jeremy measured around her chest and waist, and from her hip to her ankle. He folded the string neatly and shoved it back into his pocket, muttering about what items he needed as he went.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, already heading for the door. “Wait here okay?”

Waverly nodded as Jeremy headed down to the storerooms, glancing around the kitchen as she waited. The space to her left was occupied by two large cauldrons heated by brick fireboxes. A heavenly smelling stew bubbled in one cauldron while the other was covered by a tightly fitted lid. Behind her was a wide countertop with an array of knives, cleavers, cutting boards, and cooking utensils. An array of different irons, grill-tops, and spare metal fireboxes were shoved into the corner, and long counter ran across the other two walls. Racks underneath the counter held pots, pans, flatware, and drinking glasses for the crew.

She was examining a label on one of the hundreds of spice tins lining the walls above the counter when Jeremy ambled back in, tossing a small pile of clothing onto the counter. He pulled a shirt out of the pile and held it up to her.

“These should fit nicely!” he said. “I even found a few dresses that might fit you, though you probably won’t need them here.”

“Thank you, Jeremy,” Waverly said. She looked curiously around at the racks of dried spices along the walls.

“How did you get these?” she said in awe. “I’ve never even heard of some of them!”

“I asked the crew to look out for spices on raids,” Jeremy said nonchalantly. “I like to experiment with different flavors and spices. It helps break up the monotony of stewed salt pork and fish with rice.”

“Jeremy, that’s brilliant!” Waverly said, excited at the prospect of more delicious food.

“You want to see brilliant?” Jeremy beamed with pride and pointed at the cauldron with the fitted lid. “You know those pastries from supper? I invented the method for frying them at sea.”

“Don’t you worry about fire?” she asked.

“He never worries about anything! Didn’t you notice the sand buckets in every corner?” A short woman with long black hair burst into the kitchen, causing both Waverly and Jeremy to jump. Jeremy saw who it was and grinned sheepishly.

“Waverly, this is Rosita.” He gestured between the two of them. “Rosita, Waverly.”

Rosita looked Waverly over, shifting the basket in her arms as she did so.

“You’re the one they rescued from the _Glory_?” She spoke decisively and without flourish, her words more statement than question. Waverly immediately knew they were going to get along well.

“Rosita Bustillos.” Rosita stuck out her hand and Waverly took it. Her handshake was as decisive as her tone. “Ship’s doctor and master of arms.”

“Waverly Earp,” she said as Rosita dropped their hands and shrugged. “I just got here.”

Rosita snorted and pointed at Waverly. “I like you.”

She rounded on Jeremy, “Where are those balms you promised me? They were supposed to be done by seven bells!”

Waverly had never seen anyone make a basket look so threatening.

“I, uh... “ Jeremy started.

Rosita rolled her eyes and thumped the basket down on the counter. She squinted at the herbs and jars he had laid out.

“You let it set too long before jarring it.” Jeremy winced, but Rosita looked thoughtful.

“Come on,” she said, gathering the messy jars and bits of balm on the counter and throwing them into a pot, “I’ll help you redo them.”

Waverly stood awkwardly next to the counter. She scooted toward the door, picking up the pile of clothes Jeremy had retrieved for her.

“I’m just going to—” Waverly gestured behind her as she backed toward the door.

“Bye, Waverly!” Jeremy called.

* * *

Waverly dumped her new clothes onto her bed and flopped down beside them, grumbling in annoyance as part of the pile fell over onto her face. She lay there for a moment, enjoying the calm and quiet her room provided and wondering if she should give in to sleep.

Deciding that lying half off the bed with clothes on her face might not be the best idea, Waverly grumbled to herself and sat up. She examined each item of clothing carefully, separating out the dresses, breeches, shirts, and undergarments and trying on each item.

Waverly wasn’t sure she had ever worn breeches in her life. Polite society dictated that breeches were for men, pirates, deviants, and witches. They did feel strange, but there was something oddly liberating about not having to hold her skirts when she walked. _Yes_ , she thought. _I could definitely get used to these_.

The dresses were simple canvas and linen, and they fit beautifully. Waverly made a mental note to thank Jeremy the next time she saw him.

She folded each item in her new wardrobe and stored them in the trunk at the foot of her bed with the exception of the belt, jacket, and kerchief, which she hung on a set of hooks near the door.

She tucked the dagger and the scrap under her pillow and crawled into bed. The scrap would need a new hiding place, but she resolved to worry about that in the morning. The bells were ringing again.

Waverly sighed contentedly, letting sleep take her as the sun set over the horizon.

She dreamt of red hair and shining steel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Waverly ever get used to wearing pants? Will Doc stop at stealing just one hat? And what is up with that girl mending a sock on deck? Stay tuned for all these answers (maybe) and more (lol, more questions probably), next time on...LOYALTIES.


	3. Interlude #1: August 16, 1679

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the comments and kudos, they mean the world to me. I’m sorry there’s been such a long wait between postings, but the back half of season 3 hit me harder than I expected and I had trouble getting back into writing. I’m going to try and keep the updates to once a month for the time being.
> 
> Okay! Now to the fun stuff! This chapter is a bit of a departure from our usually scheduled programming. While this story is very much Waverly’s story, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed a bit of Nicole’s perspective. 
> 
> My brilliant beta came up with the idea of an interlude instead of a full chapter, and here we are! I have a few more planned throughout the story, so hopefully you’re all on board (pun totally intended).
> 
> One last thing: because Nicole is a pirate captain who has been sailing for pretty much her entire life, this interlude will be a little heavier on the ship jargon than usual. I’ve provided a handy guide below for some of the most common terms (which, really, I should’ve done in chapter one, so sorry about that).
> 
> Clewline: clewlines are ropes that are attached to the clews, or outer corners of the sail. They extend from the sail to the deck, and are used to help hoist the sails so they can be tied to their yards when not in use. Each sail has two clewlines, one going to each side of the deck. To keep all the the ropes organized, they’re slipped into special holes in wooden bars along the outer railing of the ship.
> 
> Masts: The Calamity Jane is a two-masted brigantine, and has a foremast toward the front of the ship and a mainmast toward the back of the ship.
> 
> Rigging: all the ropes, spars, and other bits and bobs that keeps masts and sails in place. Any look at a ship from the Golden Age of Sail will show you there was a metric crapton of the stuff. 
> 
> Sails: Each major sail on a ship has a name, prefaced by which mast it’s on. From the biggest (and closest to the ship’s deck) to smallest (and highest up) they are: foresail/mainsail, topsail, topgallant, and royal. Smaller sails are attached to the bowsprit (the bit of wood that sticks out at the front of the ship), called spritsails, and between the masts, called staysails. The Calamity Jane has 11 sails in total. 
> 
> Shrouds: Permanent pieces of standing rigging that hold the mast and bowsprit up. These are the ones that often extend all the way to the deck of a ship. They have horizontal pieces that look like wide rope ladders or spiderwebs, called ratlines. There are usually multiple shrouds per mast, all attached at different points (and at least one on each side of the mast).
> 
> Yards: The wooden beams or logs that intersect the mast, usually at a perpendicular angle, and from which the sails are hung. Yards are named for the sail they hold (royal yard, topgallant yard, etc.), and can be swung around the mast to turn the sails. 
> 
> Yardarm: the very outer end of the yard. It is a portion of the yard and not a separate piece.

****Nicole Haught loved to watch the sun rise.

She gripped the innermost shroud tightly in one hand, her other steady on the mast as _The Jane_ dipped under her, every movement amplified this high up. The wind whipped at her hair and clothes, and the topgallant yard was rough under her bare feet. She made a mental note to have it tended to next time they were in port.

Exhilaration warmed her heart as she watched the sky lighten from black to grey to pale rose, until finally the sun burst over the horizon, bathing the world in a fiery orange glow. Nicole didn’t even try to keep the smile from her face, up here where she could leave the mantle of captain behind, if only for a moment.

She stayed there, feeling _The Jane_ move beneath her feet, until the sun had nearly crossed the horizon. Glancing down at the deck, she could just make out Xavier’s dark figure waving to get her attention.

Nicole began to descend, the shroud lines sliding through her hands as she lowered herself to the next set and climbed down to the foreyard. She looked down toward the deck and saw Xavier watching her intently. Grinning impishly, Nicole steadied herself on the yardarm and took off running.

She crossed the foreyard at a sprint, leaping as the ship dipped under her, and suddenly she was flying. Reaching out with practiced ease, her hands found the slack rope that hung between the sails and the outer shrouds. Nicole gripped the clewline tightly in her right hand, steadying herself as she swung out toward the open ocean. Her feet barely brushed along the foremast shrouds as she swung back toward midship. She let the rope slide slowly through her hand, lowering herself toward the deck as she went.

A moment later and she let go, landing hard next to Xavier and letting her bent legs absorb the impact. Straightening, Nicole folded her hands behind her back and put on her captain face.

“Good morning, Xavier,” she said stoically, trying hard to hold back her laughter at the disapproving look on his face.

Xavier rolled his eyes. “Do you always have to be such a show off?”

Nicole laughed at that. “It’s not showing off if I’m just better than you.”

Xavier chuckled. “One of these days you’re going to jump and that clewline isn’t going to be there.”

“Well, as long as I’ve ordered the sails set, that line should be right there and slack as a drunk sailor’s jaw. So, if it happens to move, at least I’ll know who kill if it goes missing.” She gave him a pointed look before breaking into a wide smile.

“Guess I’ll have to make sure it’s always there then.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, face stoic but eyes dancing with mischief. “I think you broke the new girl.”

Nicole followed the direction he pointed and immediately felt her cheeks flush. Waverly Earp was staring at her, mouth agape, as if nothing else existed. The tub of dishes in her hands sloshed soapy water down the front of her dress but Waverly took no notice. Even from where she stood, Nicole could see the blush on her cheeks.

A moment later and Waverly shook away her awe. Her face paled as she realized Nicole was staring back at her, and she darted through the door toward the galley, head down to avoid eye contact.

“I, uh…” Nicole started, trailing off as she watched Waverly go. It took her a moment before she realized Xavier was speaking.

“She’s doing well, you know,” he said thoughtfully. “Well enough to go aloft.”

“Already?” Nicole asked, still staring at the spot Waverly had been standing.

“Doc was planning on sending her up today, during First Dog. Know of anyone who could accompany her?”

Nicole turned, catching Xavier’s amused stare at the edge of her vision and trying not to look too excited at the prospect of time alone with Waverly. “I’ll handle it.”

“Great,” he deadpanned. “I’m sure Waverly will be thrilled.”

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” Nicole eyed him curiously.

“Nothing at all.” Xavier’s voice was steady. He shifted the logbook in his hand, flipping to a page full of numbers and dates. His face grew serious.

“Captain,” he started, his voice low. “I received another arms requisition.”

If she didn’t know him better, Nicole would have missed the apprehension in his voice. After nearly a decade of friendship that began when Nicole sold him the weapons he used to free himself and the slaves of Black Rock Plantation, she could tell when he was nervous. And even still, ten arms deals later, Xavier hesitated with each new request. But Nicole could never deny him this.

 _Especially_ after that time in Hispaniola.

“When?” Nicole asked, shifting closer to see his notes in the logbook and crossing her arms over her chest.

“When we were in Port Royal. A friend of mine from when we were kids.” Xavier shifted on his feet. “I haven’t seen him since he was sold to Byers when we were fifteen, but he heard about us through the Market Initiative. They’re ready; they just need the weapons and basic supplies for the new town.”

“And they know our price?”

Xavier nodded curtly. “I know it might not be possible with our current time constraints, but I had to ask. It’s on our way.”

Nicole sighed and put her hand gingerly on his shoulder. “We’ll make it work, Xavier.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Xavier murmured. Nicole removed her hand, folding her arms over her chest again as he showed her the details.

“Another plantation on Antigua. Plenty of unclaimed space on the island. They have 500 signed to the new charter and expect more when the weapons come. Overseers suspect nothing. Final requisition, should we accept, to be hashed out at the Sunday Market. It’s less than 2 days out of our way.” Xavier snapped the logbook shut.

“I’ll have Doc plot the course,” Nicole said. “How go the rest of the preparations?”

“The rifles and cannons have been readied as requested and the crew has been briefed on updated training schedules.”

“Good. We can’t afford any more mistakes. Six down for multiple days on an easy catch like the _Glory_ is too many. Do you have word on them?”

“Yes. All but Collins are back on watch.” Xavier sighed. “It’s bad, Nicole. Rosita thinks he might live but not if he stays.”

“Then he doesn’t stay.” Nicole pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’ll get him to a real hospital as soon as we make port.”

“I’ll see it done,” Xavier said solemnly.

“How is Rosita with those healing balms?” Nicole asked.

“Done and ready for use.” Xavier flipped through the logbook again. “She also—”

“Your blanks are done,” Rosita said curtly as she approached them. “You can thank Waverly for the turnaround. That girl picks up quick.”

“Excellent.” Nicole rested her hands on her hips and smiled. “Then we’re all set. Weapons and combat training begins at first bell of Afternoon Watch. I’ll expect you both on hand.”

“Yes, Captain,” Xavier and Rosita said in unison.

With a nod to the two of them, Nicole turned on her heel and headed for the galley, hoping that Jeremy had saved her some breakfast. If she happened to run into someone other than Jeremy, who may or may not have been heading to the kitchen with a large bucket of dishes, well, that was just a bonus.

She closed the door behind her and heard voices coming from the kitchen. Nicole slowed her pace. She hadn’t been this apprehensive about entering the galley since the first time Jeremy nearly blew it up.

“... do you have cloves? Those would work beautifully. And is that fresh ginger? Where did you get that?” Nicole could hear Waverly’s excited chatter floating down the hall.

“The captain picked some up right before we left Port Royal,” she heard Jeremy reply as she moved closer. “She always looks out for new spices or replacements for things I’ve run out of. I usually have replacements as soon as I run out! I swear...” Jeremy paused as Nicole leaned on the doorframe.

“That woman knows everything.” He grinned cheekily.

“Good morning, Mr. Chetri,” Nicole said conversationally.

Waverly spun around, the blush returning to her cheeks as Nicole smiled pleasantly at her.

“Nicole!” she exclaimed, brushing down the front of her dress and hurrying toward the door. “So lovely to see you.”

She squeezed past Nicole and into the hallway, pausing with a hand on the doorframe. “But I really must be going. Lots to do!”

She hurried off without a backward glance, leaving Nicole standing in the doorway wondering what had just happened. A moment later, the door to the main deck slammed shut behind her.

“Captain!” Jeremy said brightly. He grabbed a plate off the rack and stacked it with johnny cakes from the griddle latched over one of the cauldrons, topping them with a stewed mixture of orange and ginger.

“We missed you at breakfast! Some of us more than others.” He nodded pointedly to the door Waverly had just left through.

“It was too good a morning to spend on deck,” she commented sheepishly, hopping onto the counter and taking the plate gratefully. “Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s avoiding me.”

Jeremy ignored her grumbling. “Watching the sunrise again?”

Nicole nodded and popped a sliver of ginger into her mouth, savoring the sticky-sweetness of the compote. “It was beautiful, Jer.”

He bumped her shoulder with his as he moved toward the cauldrons that were already bubbling with preparations for lunch.

“It always is,” he said as he checked the cauldrons. “But I prefer to keep my feet here on the ground, thank you very much.”

“Your loss.” Nicole laughed. “How’s the fresh ginger working out?’

“Wonderfully!” Jeremy puttered about the kitchen, tidying up the remains of the breakfast preparations.

Nicole settled into her breakfast, one leg tucked under her as she balanced her plate in her lap, while Jeremy talked happily about the new spices he’d gotten in Port Royal. She scooped some orange and ginger compote into the middle of a johnny cake before folding it in half and shoving the whole thing into her mouth.

“It’s even better than the last batch, and Waverly has some interesting ideas that I’d love to try.”

Nicole paused, mouth half full of johnny cake. Jeremy was always hesitant to share his recipes with strangers. “Really?”

“You know,” he tutted. “For one of the most fearsome pirates on all the seven seas, your table manners are atrocious.”

Nicole rolled her eyes and took another exaggerated bite of Johnny cake.

“Waverly really is brilliant though,” he said. “She has this great idea for a spiced rum. I think I have all the spices here, and once we’ve perfected it, it might even beat her recipe for Devil’s Honey.”

Jeremy paused and Nicole almost see his mind racing.

“What if,” he muttered. “What if we spiced the Devil’s Honey? Talk about an amazing spirit!”

He smacked his forehead in frustration.

“Too bad there aren’t any bottles left. Stupid Gardners.”

Nicole’s face tinged pink and Jeremy looked curiously at her.

“I actually have their last bottle,” Nicole said slowly. “I was saving it for a special occasion.”

“Maybe you should donate it to the cause?” Jeremy said suggestively.

Nicole lost herself for a moment in the image. Of giving Waverly the last bottle of her family distillery’s finest rum, of seeing it transformed into something even better. Of sharing a drink with Waverly, laughing and joking with a familiarity that she wasn’t sure they would ever get to have.

“Nicole!”

Nicole started, nearly falling off the counter.

“She still thinks we’re monsters, Jer,” she murmured, trying to put as much conviction in her voice as she could.

Waverly Earp may have been beautiful and resilient and apparently brilliant in the kitchen and the armory, but that didn’t mean she thought of them the same way. Nicole could see it in her eyes, the certainty that she was amongst monsters.

“Oh, please.” Jeremy scoffed. “She might have some misguided opinions of what we do, but she doesn’t think we’re monsters, Nicole. Not even you.”

* * *

“Dammit!”

Nicole flopped back in her chair and tossed the reports back onto her desk. Fingers steepled in front of her, she closed her eyes and sighed in frustration.

The reports sat atop ledgers filled with cargo lists, requisition requests, and pay charts for the ships under her command. She would never admit it aloud, but they unnerved her.

“Three more ports,” she huffed.

Three more ports taken by the British for their East India Company and their soldiers and their propriety. Three more ports that were unsafe to harbor in, that she could no longer sell in.

 _This is getting out of hand,_ Nicole thought to herself. _Something has to be done._

The new ship for the witches cost her dearly, but they were the most profitable ships under her command, and some of the most vicious fighters. She could not afford to have them unhappy and unprepared. Not with what she was planning.

Frustrated, Nicole stood, her chair nearly falling over with the movement. She gazed out the windows and let the sight of _The Jane’s_ wake curling and fanning out behind them calm the nerves and fury building in her chest.

 _Priorities_ , she thought. _First priority: supply the rebellion. We need another safe port on Antigua._

New ports and new trading partners to counteract their losses. That was what Antigua would bring. The weapons would be easy. They had been at sea two weeks and had plenty of provisions to tide them over until they could make port in Tortuga and she could have a talk with her weapons dealer.

_Tortuga._

Nicole wondered what Waverly would think of Tortuga. The closest place she had to a home on land. And as riotous and wild as the stories claimed.

Her thoughts drifted to Waverly. She hadn’t anticipated Waverly and yet, she knew she wouldn’t have changed any part of their course that brought them together.

A sharp knock at the door shook Nicole from her thoughts.

“Come in!” she yelled, turning toward the door as it opened with a flourish.

Doc sauntered through the door, the feather of his ridiculous cavalier hat brushing the top of the doorframe as he did so.

“Captain.” He swept the hat off and bowed low, the image of a perfect gentleman.

“New hat working out for you?” Nicole raised an eyebrow at Doc’s theatrics.

“Very much so,” he said, unfazed as he placed the hat atop his head. “Our course has been adjusted as you requested, and the crew are making the necessary adjustments as we speak.”

“Thank you, Doc,” Nicole said distractedly, turning back to the windows.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“No,” Nicole said, running a hand through her short hair. “Not yet. But we’ve lost three more ports. That makes seven this year.”

She didn’t think they could wait much longer. Not with how quickly their safe havens were disappearing.

“Doc,” she started, her words low and commanding. “I need you to gather the captains. Send word at the market that they will be expected in Tortuga in six weeks’ time.”

“I shall see it done, Captain.” Doc bowed slightly and turned to take his leave. Nicole had not looked away from the window.

“It won’t be quick.” she said sadly. “And it won’t be easy. But we have to do something.”

“Nicole,” Doc said seriously. “We all knew the risks when we signed up for this life. The captains are on your side, and they will sacrifice just as you will sacrifice. Their loyalty is unquestionable, as is ours. And when the time comes, we shall stand by your side.”

Nicole nodded once, grateful that Doc understood her thanks, and strode purposefully toward the door.

“Walk with me.”

Doc followed as Nicole made her way across the quarterdeck to the front railing. Her hands trailed along the polished wood as she watched the crew adjust the yards and sails.

“This detour may yet be a boon for us,” Doc said, looking pointedly toward the mountainous clouds on on the horizon. “We may miss the storm entirely.”

“We can only hope.” Nicole glanced from the storm clouds to the ship, her eyes catching on something midship.

Doc followed her line of sight to where Hetty was showing Waverly how to sand down the deck using water and a large piece of sandstone.

Nicole noticed that her sodden dress had been replaced by a simple shirt and a pair of calf-length pants. Waverly said something Nicole couldn’t hear, and she and Hetty burst out laughing.

Nicole hoped that one day, Waverly might laugh like that with her.

“You know,” Doc started, “Ms. Earp asks a great many questions about you.”

“Does she?” Nicole tried to hide the hopefulness in her voice.

Doc turned to her, leaning one arm on the railing. “It appears that she is as drawn to you as you are to her.” His eyes twinkled.

Nicole groaned.

“Don’t make me throw you overboard,” she retorted.

“As if you could,” Doc replied, his voice filled with mirth. 

“Do you really want to test that theory?” Nicole’s voice was low and dangerous, but Doc just laughed and held up his hands in defeat.

“Not today, Captain.”

Nicole nodded once, smug smile on her face as she turned back toward the main deck.

They watched the crew work until the bells signaled the change of watch and Doc headed below deck to check the cannons.

Nicole checked in with the sailors at the ship’s wheel, making minor adjustments to their course until she was satisfied.

Dreading the papers scattered across her office, Nicole descended the stairs to the main deck. Hetty and Waverly had disappeared, and Nicole made her rounds in relative peace, thoughts drifting to Waverly as she checked in with her crew.

* * *

Nicole stood at the forecastle, examining the knotted rope in front of her.

“Nice work, Newton,” she said as she dropped the rope, nodding in satisfaction. “These are looking much better.”

“Thank you, Captain,” he said.

Nicole’s ear perked at the sound of six bells. It was nearly time for the Afternoon Watch.

“Newton, I need to speak with Doc, Rosita, and Xavier.”

“Yes, Captain.” He nodded in affirmation and hurried off to find them.

Nicole stuck her head in the door and yelled for Jeremy, who came hustling onto the deck.

“What can I do for you, Captain?” he asked jovially as he cleaned his flour-covered hands on his apron.

“It’s nearly noon,” she said. “We need to start prepping.”

“Ah,” he said. “Right.”

They watched as Xavier emerged from a door on the quarterdeck, sheaf of papers in hand and a scowl on his face. A moment later, Doc sauntered out with his extravagant hat sitting proudly on his head.

“Hello, everyone.” Doc swept his hat off his head, bowing slightly and smacking Xavier with the feather in his cap as he did so.

“Put your ridiculous hat back on your head and let’s get to work,” Xavier grumbled as he batted the feather away.

“I would have you know that this hat is the very _height_ of gentlemanly fashion.”

Xavier snorted. “Then what are you doing with it?”

Doc growled at him in response, raising his fists.

“Enough!” Nicole's voice was stern. They had no time for petty fights.

Doc and Xavier stopped and turned to her, their faces apologetic. Rosita walked up from the forecastle as they stood in silence.

“These two ladies bickering again?” she asked Jeremy, pointing her thumb at Doc and Xavier.

Jeremy nodded as Nicole tried not to laugh at the outraged expression on Doc’s and Xavier’s faces.

“Alright, back to business,” Nicole said promptly. “Doc, take Lonnie and Hetty to set up the cannons on the port side with the blanks that Rosita and Waverly made earlier. You know who’s weakest; pull from anyone not currently on duty.”

Doc nodded, flagging a passing sailor and asking him to send Lonnie and Hetty to the gun deck to wait for him.

“Rosita.” Nicole turned to her. “Take Jeremy and set up along the aft wall. Can you handle wound dressing and gun jams?”

Rosita nodded. “Absolutely, Captain.”

“Xavier.” Nicole looked at his exasperated expression. He knew what was coming. “Please make sure none of these idiots are using their actual firearms or start dueling on deck under the guise of training.”

Xavier nodded.

“Did anyone let our guest know about the practice sessions this afternoon?” he asked.

“No,” Jeremy said. “But we should let her know so she doesn’t think we’re under attack.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Nicole shrugged and tried to seem nonchalant.

Four pairs of eyes turned to her.

“Captain,” Rosita said. “It’s not really that pressing. I’m sure Jeremy could handle delivering a message.”

“It’s _fine_ , Rosita,” Nicole said, her tone light but implying that there was no room for discussion.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Nicole ignored the heat rising in her cheeks as she walked lightly toward the aft doors, well aware of the smug smiles on Jeremy’s, Doc’s, and Xavier’s faces.

She ducked through the door and closed it gently behind her, stress easing from her shoulders as she stood in the hallway and let her eyes adjust to the dim light.

Moving quietly, Nicole made her way down the hall and paused in front of Waverly’s room.

Her door was shut.

Nicole knocked softly but there was no response.

“Waverly?” Nicole knocked harder and listened. Still nothing.

She tried the handle and was surprised to find the door unlatched. Opening it slowly, she called Waverly’s name again.

Waverly was sound asleep, splayed over the bed, still in her shirt and pants, as if she had flopped down after her watch and fallen asleep immediately. Nicole thought back to her first days aboard a ship and remembered vividly how exhausted she had been after every Watch. It didn’t surprise her that Waverly had fallen asleep before even checking that the door was latched properly.

Nicole studied her for a moment. Waverly’s face was scrunched in concentration and her hand gripping something — _her dagger_ , Nicole thought — under the pillow.

“Waverly.” Nicole bent down and gently shook her leg.

The kick aimed at her head was so quick that Nicole nearly caught a foot to the face. She jumped back and slammed into the wall as Waverly sat bolt upright.

“Wynonna!” Waverly yelled as she brought the dagger in front of herself, body preparing or a fight before her brain was properly awake.

“Waverly!” Nicole shouted. “It’s just me!”

She held her hands up to show she had no weapons, her eyebrows scrunched together in concern.

The wild look faded from Waverly’s eyes as she shook the last vestiges of her nightmare from her mind, registering where she was and that there was no danger. It was quickly replaced by fury.

“I’m sorry for startling you,” Nicole said hurriedly, taking a small step away from the wall, her hands still up. “The winds are dying down and the crew will be training for the next few days. The blanks sound like real weapons-fire, and I didn’t want you to think we were under attack.”

Waverly regarded her carefully, the tension fading from her posture as Nicole’s words registered.

“Thank you for letting me know,” she said softly, her expression unreadable.

“Any time,” Nicole said. “But, uh…”

She pointed at the dagger Waverly was still brandishing.

“Oh, right!” Waverly quickly sheathed the dagger, an embarrassed flush creeping up her cheeks. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” Nicole lowered her arms. “Not the first time I’ve had a knife pulled on me.”

Waverly paled. Nicole mentally kicked herself for the terrible joke.

“You know,” she said, trying to change the subject as quickly as possible. “The crew is also training in close quarters combat. Knives and daggers welcome.”

“Really?” Waverly sounded hopeful.

Nicole smiled, broad and easy, and extended her hand. “Would you like to join us?”

Waverly’s grin was prettier than the sunrise, bright and shining and full of life. Nicole marvelled at the softness of Waverly’s hands as she pulled her gingerly to her feet, her smile only growing wider as Waverly bobbed her head.

“I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Waverly and Nicole get to sparring? Will Xavier chuck Doc's hat into the ocean? And what the hell happened on Hispaniola? Stay tuned next time for potential answers and probably just way more questions!
> 
> And if anyone has any actual questions, feel free to comment or drop an ask in my inbox at parliament-of-owlets on tumblr.


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